literature

city night

Deviation Actions

cloaked-nouveau's avatar
Published:
142 Views

Literature Text

I

She stands, and her feet make little pads on the concrete as she moves to the light switch, sashaying to her own rythmic cadence, and for a moment the birdlike bones are covered with a natural grace that surprises my heart.

She crosses back, now dimly lit by the dull light coming in from the broken window, and levels an acid gaze on me. No bird here, she’s trying to say.

I haven’t the heart to say anything, and she turns away before reaching for a pack of slender cigarettes. Marlboro Lites. Meets my look again and nearly says something, but instead lifts her half-covered shoulder with resignation. Lights up. A few breaths, and she regains enough composure to smile ever so slightly, her lips parting to let forth rivulets of ghost-breath.

II

Karon is twenty-one and has aged negative twelve years since I last saw her. She’s a waif now, eaten inside out by acid that runs through her veins (but God she loves it). She sleeps with her dealer to ensure a better deal. She lies on a rancid blanket. She smokes Marlboro Lites daintily. She feels cold concrete beneath her feet; some days she just knows it’s carpet but then she crashes and feels again.

Her eyes, rimmed with red, still have that touch of faint amusement when she looks out the window (broken) to see the building across the street below.

III

Damn them, she once mumbled in smoke as I watched. Damn all of them.

I just looked at her, almost understanding but not sure.

They’re roaches, she said, shifting her position. Sometimes I think they like the way I look, like this. It used to be popular, she laughed a stone laugh and looked at me. Heroin chic. What bastard thought of that?

No, she said after a long while. There’s no chic in hell. Only hell. Flames and ice.

A wry smile a few minutes later as she wrapped a belt around her arm. But there’s some hell in chic, and I’m not in hell yet.

IV

She died last week. Her heart stopped because of an overdose. She was found in her concrete room, wrapped in her blanket. Marlboro Lites in the ashtray by the window. I had to come identify the body.

Chic was in hell. Her skin was pale and stretched over bird bones. Smelled awful. There was vomit on the floor beneath her bed, all over, drug things. The paramedics weren’t called until a neighbor freaked at the awful smell (like it isn’t city to smell awful). She’d been dead for at least two days.

Her eyes were closed, couldn’t see what she’d been staring at as she died.

V

It rained last night, and for a moment I smelled (among the rest of the city smell) the Menthol smoke, ghost-breath, the only thing I could recognize as being hers. Somehow it lingered, and then with my next breath it was gone.

A constant drip remained, and I shut the window against the city night.
hide from the city.
will it come for you?
© 2009 - 2024 cloaked-nouveau
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In